


fantasy work in progress

by ljgeoff



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dark, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljgeoff/pseuds/ljgeoff
Summary: Maybe the multiverse is like slices of bread in an infinite loaf.  Or peas and carrots floating in a multiverse stew.  All twelve year old Jacy knows is that she'll be lucky to survive.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original work of fiction. I'd love constructive critiques of any kind, even if it's that this is something you might continue reading. Warning: I work full time and have a family, so I write slowly. I'm shooting for 2500 words/month.

about 3950 words

Jacy

Everett Cooper died on a Wednesday. Jacy didn't know why that fact stuck with her, except the old saying, _Wednesday's child is full of woe_ , and she thought that if you squinted at it, dying was something like being born. 

He wasn't very old, maybe forty something. Most folk thought that meth or crack had done for him. It hadn't. It would have, maybe even should have. Looking back on it, Jacy figured that was one of the lessons that shaped the rest of her life - that things which should or would happen sometimes don't have a chance against what is meant to happen.

But that was later. After the terror and the war. She didn’t know any of that when he took her. She didn't know that he was taking her last precious years of childhood. She didn’t know that their time together was just beginning. She didn’t know anything.

She was cutting through the alley, which was pretty stupid. The last time she'd cut through there Everett Cooper was sitting in a broken down recliner staring up at the sky and when she'd walked by he'd turned his head like a creaky old toy. It made her jump because she'd had a nightmare about him just that night, that he'd grabbed her and cut off all of her fingers, one by one, snip, snip, snip, with an old pair of kitchen scissors.

That was a week ago. When she came through the alley again, not thinking about Everett Cooper and the creepy dream, she saw him there in the broken down recliner and stopped dead. She had a bag of cheap Family Dollar diapers in one hand and a Laffy Taffy that Mom let her get with the change in the other. 

He narrowed his eyes at her and the whole left side of his body twitched. Her fingertips tingled and in her mind and Jacy could hear _snip_. They stayed like that, eyes on each other, neither one of them moving for a breath or two. Then Jacy began to edge back.

Something strange happened. Jacy thought that time itself twitched. Because, in a blink, Everett Cooper was there. There, next to her, smelling like piss and infection, dilated eyes wide and bony fingers digging into her shoulder.

With his other hand, he plucked the taffy from her fingers, took a long, slow lick and gave it back to her, grinning. Jacy choked on his breath and let the taffy fall to the ground.

"What a waste." His voice wasn't right. It was a normal voice, soft and warm, flowing out of his wreck of a face. His other hand was still tight on her shoulder and he shook her a little. "You're too young to have a baby." The diapers in her hand bumped between them. "Right? You don't have a baby, do you?"

"No," Jacy stuttered. "They’re for my little sister. She’s just two."

"Good," Everett Cooper said. “That’s real good.”

"Let go," Jacy said, not moving. Not tugging away. "I gotta get home. My mom needs these."

"No." He wasn't smiling now. "Come on. I've been waiting."

Why didn't she scream? She never did figure that one out. It wasn't like she thought about screaming and decided against it, or tried to scream and he stopped her. She just didn't scream. He said come on and Jacy dropped the diapers and followed along.

After that everything changed and she thought she might die. She supposed that everyone thought that she’d run away or got killed, and for a long time she cried at night, thinking of her mother and her sister. Lately, she’d been thinking about just egging The Monster on to go ahead and kill her. Get it over with. 

She tossed on the damp straw mattress. She hadn't been pitched into the dungeon for a while. But she’d thrown a knife at the cook’s boy and it had stuck in his thigh, blood all over. He’d squealed like the pig he was. So here she was, back in her old cell. 

She went still at the sound of weeping. 

It was that kind of hopeless weeping that you try to keep quiet because you don’t want to get beat. Jacy tensed, her fuddled brain trying to suss out the threat, but then she figured it out. Someone new had been fetched. This was their Night One.

Long ago she’d named the four walls -- Cot Wall, Piss Pot Wall, Not-Cot Wall, and Door-In-It Wall. There were small holes in each of the walls, big enough that she could see or pass a message to someone on the other side. Pressing her ear to each of the holes, Jacy found that the weeping was coming from beyond Piss Pot Wall. 

“Hey,” Jacy whispered into the hole. “Hey.” 

The weeping stopped and a small voice said, “Who is there?”

“Shhh!” Jacy didn’t know if the guards Dumb and Dumber knew about the holes in her walls. They probably did. But she didn’t want to be caught talking. That might be bad. 

There was a shuffle of feet and a voice near the wall whispered, “Who is there?”

“Sit down with your back against the wall,” Jacy whispered. “Hold your head in your hands like you’re going crazy. That way, if they see you talking, they won’t think nothing of it.”

Jacy did the same, slumping against the wall, one cheek pressed to the cold brick, knees close to her chin. She balanced her elbows on her knees and plopped her hands on top of her head. Her mouth was right by the hole. “Here,” Jacy whispered, “here I am.”

“Doo marecy,” the voice whispered. There was a short pause and then it added, “Though perhaps it is cruel to be happy that someone else shares this place with me.”

“It’s alright,” Jacy said. “I know what you mean.” She tried to think of something to say. “What was that you said -- Doo marecy? What language is that?”

“Thank God, it means,” the voice said. “It is French.”

A thrill of excitement went up Jacy’s spine. Maybe this would be the day. Maybe this time there would be someone who knew her world. “You speak good English for a French person,” she said. “I,” Jacy swallowed, “I’m from Chicago.”

“Shee-caa-go,” the voice rolled the word on its tongue, seeming to taste something unfamiliar. “I do not know it.” There was a long pause and the voice said, “I am from New Orleans.”

What Jacy knew was that there were worlds and worlds. She didn’t know if they were like slices of bread in a great cosmic loaf, or if they were peas and carrots floating in some cosmic stew. But there were a lot of them and some were really different and some were so close, so damn close, to her world. The Real World.

“I heard of N’Orleans,” she said . “I got an uncle who stays there.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “You know you’re in a crazy place now, right?”

The girl whimpered some more and sniffed. “I do not know anything.”

Jacy sat quiet for a bit, thinking of what she wished someone had told her on her own Day One. “Um, alright. This is it: This is a crazy place, like, we’re not even on our own world right now. And there’s a bunch of other people here who aren’t on their own world, either. Right now, we’re in a … a jail, like. Tomorrow, we’re gonna work.”

“Are we dead, then? Is this purgatory?” 

Jacy shrugged. “Naw. I’ve seen people get killed here. I don’t think there’d be any reason to kill people who’re already dead.”

There was a soundless laugh, just a puff of air. “You are delightful. No, I cannot imagine there is. But I have never been dead,” her voice cracked and she swallowed, “so who knows?”

They breathed together. Jacy could hear the other girl’s breath, with little hitches from the crying. Now it was settling down, slow and even. Good. “I’m Jacy,” she said. “I’m a girl, and I’m twelve years old.”

“I am Sauvanne,” the other voice whispered. “I just passed my thirteenth year.”

“You don’t sound fourteen. You sound like a woman.” 

“No, I am not a woman yet; Madam says I have another year or three. Still, she sold me to the darkie man. And he brought me here.”

Jacy shook her head. She’d need to talk some more to figure all of that out. What she knew now was that Everett Cooper had scooped this girl up, and she, Jacy, didn’t want her dead .

“Ok, now, I gotta tell you some things so you don’t get killed. In case we’re both still alive, right? You just listen for a bit.” Jacy took a breath. “First thing you got to know is that there’s a monster, and if you scream or cry when you see him, he’ll probably kill you.”

When Jacy first saw The Monster, she went crazy. Not the kind of weeping and hair-pulling kind of crazy, but the kind of quiet, stone faced crazy where your mind just can’t take it and you feel like you’ve come right out of your body and are floating up above, watching. 

A musky animal smell filled the room. The thing was big, about the size of a stretched out minivan, and furry. Pasted onto the end where the minivan hatch would be was a face, with huge black eyes, a flat nose, and a lipless, long slit of a mouth. It had long snake-like arms that grew out of the sides of its head with human-sized hands at the end. The other end of it, where the hood would be if it was a minivan, that came to a sharp, spiny point. 

When it saw her, it blinked, made a huffing sound like a dry laugh, and a long, thin tongue darted out of its mouth. Jacy flinched at the tongue, but standing behind her, Everett Cooper squeezed her shoulder hard. That was good. She needed that.

Because she thought she might just float out of her body forever, and it was like Everett Cooper was saying here I am, you aren’t alone. If she floated away now, she’d probably never wake up. And even with The Monster’s tongue waving in her face, she wasn’t ready for never waking up. Not yet. 

The tongue retreated and a booming voice rolled out from the lips. “Does it dance or tumble?”

Everett Cooper replied, “Not yet, my Lord, but we can train it, if that is your desire.”

“Mmm,” The Monster considered her, and Jacy felt the world retreat a bit more. “I like its color, like dark earth. Nice. I want the hair to be braided with ribbons, so that when it dances and tumbles, the hair swings about.”

“As you wish, Sire.”

The Monster smiled, the corners of its lips reaching high up its cheeks. “Wash it up and bring it tonight to ply the comb.” It turned its body, looking toward its back end and flicked its tongue out to a bundle of rags lying there. “And have this one removed before it starts stinking.”

“At once, Sire.” 

Jacy let her eyes rove over the bundle of rags, seeing the dark puddle that surrounded them, and bits and pieces sticking out. Everett Cooper was already turning her away, snapping his fingers at a man at the door, pointing back at the mess of blood, bone, and parti-colored cloth. 

When the door closed behind them, he stopped and came down to one knee, turning her to face him. “Well done. You have survived the first meeting and that is becoming more rare.”

He was different in this place. His face matched his voice, strong and dependable. His face and his voice said that he could be trusted, that he would protect her. 

Jacy remembered the first face, the man who had commanded her to come, who had invaded her dreams, who had taken her away from the people she’d loved. Ruin and decay. Her fingers tingled and wind roared in her ears. She leaned toward Everett Cooper and whispered, “ _What. The. Fuck_.” 

Everett Cooper tsked and stood. “We have a lot of training to do. Dancing, tumbling, and,” his lips pursed, “comportment.” He put his hand on her shoulder again, pushing her ahead of him. “Let us begin.”

Learning to dance and tumble had been a joy. She still bore a few scars from her lessons in comportment.

In the morning after talking to Sauvanne, Jacy was collected from her dungeon cell and brought to what she thought of as her room. As she ate and washed, a woman wove ribbons in her hair and then helped her dress in jewel colored silks. Mid morning, she was waiting in an alcove for The Monster’s command and for the music. With a bounce, she entered the Great Room.

She twirled, bright ribbons and body silks flowing about, dancing to music so vibrant that she could feel it on her skin. When she faced The Monster, she saw his eyes slitted in pleasure. That was good, very good; she might live this day. Not that he wouldn’t kill her some day. Some day he would be more than happy to kill her. But his killing face showed a different kind of pleasure. At this moment, he wanted to see her dance.

The music and the dance came to a crescendo and ended in a blaze. Jacy threw herself in the air, landed on her hands, flipped twice and twirled, ending in the far corner of the room. The Monster gave a huff of pleasure and turned away from her as a musical chime called and the door to the Great Room slowly opened. Everett Cooper entered, a small, pale colored girl in a flowing blue dress following him. Soundlessly, Jacy lowered herself onto the floor, as inconspicuous as her flowing colors would allow. 

The girl’s eyes swept the room, skipping over The Monster and finding Jacy - pale blue eyes wide with fear. Sauvanne. Jacy blinked and tried to look strong. _You can do this_. Jacy’s eyes said to Sauvanne. Her lips pressed together. _Be strong_. 

Sauvanne gave a tight nod and faced The Monster.

“Everoe! Well done, my brother!” The Monster boomed, still jovial. His tongue darted out and Jacy held her breath. But Sauvanne didn’t even flinch. 

Everett Cooper nodded his head at the compliment. “I have brought her from the same place, though from a different time period. They should be … harmonious, I believe. 

“Hmm!” The Monster’s head turned to Jacy, tongue flicking out and retreating. “Earth has her Sky! Well done indeed! Earth, go to Sky -- let me see the two of you together.” 

Jacy rose and paced toward Sauvanne, face carefully blank. She stood next to the pale girl and clasped her hand. 

“They are even of a height!” The Monster trilled. “Ah, you must dance for me, my Earth and Sky! Let me see you move together.”

Everett Cooper said, “Perhaps something simple, my Lord? This new one is not yet trained.” Jacy’s pulse quickened at the strain in the man’s voice. 

The Monster wagged his head, “Yes, yes, of course. A simple dance will do.”

Jacy looked at Sauvanne. “Mirror me.” She squeezed the hand in hers and then let it go. “It will be okay.”

That was probably a lie, but Jacy figured Sauvanne needed a lie right then. 

She stepped away from Everett Cooper, drawing Sauvanne with her. Slowly, she lifted her arm, waving it wide. Sauvanne’s arm lifted, fingers just so. Jacy smiled. Music flowed, a lilting ayre, giving Jacy a rhythm to follow. A toe pointed, tapped. A lift and a slow turn. Sauvanne was doing it. She was wonderful.

“Lift your hands and slowly twirl,” Jacy whispered. Sauvanne lifted her arms, ballerina-like, and as she twirled, Jacy flipped and spun around her in counterpoint. The Monster crooned in pleasure. 

Jacy held a hand to Sauvanne and twirled her about again, leading her to a graceful sprawl on the tiled floor. Jacy fell softly next to her, back to back. Catching her breath, Jacy leaned into the other girl, resting her head on Sauvanne’s shoulder. 

“Bring them tonight,” The Monster commanded. “And find silks and ribbons for my Sky. Give Sky lessons as you did for Earth.” 

The Monster was rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

Everett Cooper gave The Monster a curt bow, snapped his fingers at Jacy and Sauvanne, and ushered them out. His shoulders didn’t relax until the doors clicked shut behind them. Slowly, he looked the girls up and down. “That went amazingly well.” His gaze went to the closed doors, contemplating. “He is becoming more easily led by his desires.” His gaze shifted to Jacy and sharpened. “That can be good and bad, as you know.”

Jacy’s eyes met Everett Cooper’s and she shivered; he too expected death from The Monster. Everett Cooper’s lips pressed into a grim smile and he turned away. “Come! There is much to do, and you must also rest before this evening’s attendance.

It was only a few weeks after her first dance with Sauvanne that Jacy felt herself move the air. Anyone can move the air with a simple swish of the arm. But Jacy moved air with a thought. It was natural and terrifying. It took a week for her to share it with Sauvanne.

They were sitting in the main servant hall, eating a late meal. Sauvanne bit into some bread that was smeared thick with butter and jam, and she crinkled her nose, “Gah! Why did I not wash? I smell him on my hands.” The bread landed onto her plate with a plop, and she began to rise.

“Wait,” Jacy took Sauvanne’s slightly sticky hand in hers, and then the other, cradling them between her own. She bent her head and sniffed. _Ew_ , yes. With a thought, she waved the bits of Monster smell from Sauvanne’s skin. As an afterthought, she lifted the jam and butter, and dispersed those too.

Sauvanne’s eyes went large in her face. “What was that? I felt... I do not know! What did you do, dearest heart?”

“I just … I just…” Jacy could feel her face burn and she dipped her head. She had always been strange, but this was really strange.

Sauvanne brought her hands to her face, buried her nose in them, even licked them. “Nothing! I smell only me! How amazing!” She spoke quietly, ending almost in a whisper. “Jacy! What does this mean?”

Jacy gave a shrug. “It just started happening. I don’t know why.”

Sauvanne put both hands to her cheeks and then calmly laid them in her lap. She studied them there for a moment and then lifted her eyes to Jacy. “You must not share this with anyone else.”

“I know,” Jacy nodded. “They’ll kill me if they find out. You too, I think.”

Slowly, Sauvanne turned back to her plate and picked up her piece of bread. She took a bite and chewed on it absently, staring straight at the wall. Under the table, she gave Jacy a nudge with the side of her foot. Jacy reached jerkily for her own plate and stuffed bread into her mouth. 

“We must work on this, of course,” Sauvanne said. Her brow was furiously furrowed, and noticing Jacy’s glance there, she smoothed it. “We’ll need a private place,” she mused. She nudged Jacy again with her foot. “Is there more?”

Jacy lifted her eyes to find Sauvanne expressionless, but beaming at her, as if she was lit by a light that only Jacy could see. “There’s lots,” Jacy said. She licked jam from the corner of her mouth. “But it’s hard to explain. I’d have to show you, I guess.”

Sauvanne closed her eyes in a slow blink. “Private, indeed,” she deadpanned, and took a nibble of bread. 

Jacy thought she’d be blinded by the excited wonder that shone from within Sauvanne, and she leaned into the brightness. “You’re glowing.”

Sauvanne giggled. “I think I must be, ma lutine.” 

Jacy lifted her finger and poked Sauvanne in the shoulder. “You must teach me French so I’ll know what you’re calling me.”

“Ah! But then I will miss that priceless look on your face!”

Jacy huffed in surprise and the two collapsed in giggles that would stop and then start when they’d wiggle their eyebrows at each other or blow air through pursed lips. Finally the maid who was their minder for the night shooed them upstairs, shaking her head in exasperation and telling them that they must sleep and not giggle the night away like silly ninnies. 

Midday the next, they dodged their minder and escaped to the attic. It was hot. “We do not have much time,” Sauvanne said. Dust motes moved lazily in sunbeams and Sauvanne waved a lazy hand in front of her face. “So, other than cleaning my hands, what else can you magic, dearest?”

“There’s something that happened the other day,” Jacy murmured. She felt the air in a spot just there, between them, considered it and decided that it would grow cold. As she cooled it, she imagined a pinwheel and held the shape in her mind . When she could see it, she set it spinning.

Cool air blew back the damp strands of hair on Sauvanne’s brow.

Sauvanne’s eyes widened, “Jacy! But you have the hand of God!” She leaned away from the coolness and then into it, shaking her hair in the breeze. “Does He speak to you as well?”

The words were said in utter seriousness. Jacy stepped back and the construct collapsed. “I don’t know if it’s God, Sauvanne. It doesn’t feel … very much like God.”

Sauvanne waved her hand, “Well, it is not the Devil, since we wait on him every day.” Her head tipped as she considered Jacy. “And what does God feel like? Like angels singing or the roar from some burning bush?” She stepped forward, took Jacy’s hand, and brought the palm up to her lips. “Or perhaps it sounds like a saviour in the night, who takes the terror and makes it livable?” 

Jacy tugged her hand away. “I’m not some God-thing,” Jacy murmured. “I’m just Jacy, standing beside you. I’m not anything special.”

Sauvanne turned and blew out a breath. When she turned back, her face was earnest. “So it is, my Jacy-not-special! But I tell you, it is _we_. I will be your footing, yes? Your foundation? I will give you the steadiness, and you will give me the air!” She laughed suddenly. “Don’t you see? He calls us Earth and Sky. But he has us backwards!”

Sudden tears flooded her eyes and Jacy swallowed. “Sauvanne! It’s all … what if, I mean…” She reached out and found Sauvanne’s shoulder. Strong. Upright. 

Sauvanne lifted a fingertip and wiped away a tear. “It is we. I will help you bear this gift. And what is my first thing to do?” The finger wiped a tear from the other cheek. “Come, let us get a drink and a bite to eat, hm?”

Jacy nodded. “It really makes me hungry. Moving the air.” 

“Ah?” Sauvanne took her hand and began pulling her toward the attic door. “I will make note of this. I must make sure that you have many snacks. We have much work to do!”

With a wave of her hand, Jacy pushed air and opened the door. Sauvanne did not even blink.


	2. Cole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new point of view character - Cole.
> 
> This is an original work of fiction. I'd love constructive critiques of any kind, even if it's that this is something you might continue reading. Warning: I work full time and have a family, so I write slowly. I'm shooting for 2500 words/month.

about 2360 words

Cole

Not far from where the Monster played and laughed and killed, a battle was fought to the death of both armies. The morning after the battle, clouds rolled over the sun.

It was still. Even the birds were silent.

A storm was coming. Wind brushed along the treetops, rustled leaves and rustled flags. It rustled coat, sleeve, and hair of the quiet dead and for a moment they were not quiet at all. 

In a heap of dead men, the boy Cole lay sheltered by the body of his father. But Cole breathed. 

His eyes focused on the cold hand that rested next to his face. A strong, capable hand. He had been that kind of man, that kind of father. Cole had slept unafraid in that embrace but restless, waking to weep and beat the ground with his fist. Soundlessly now, he craned his head to see over the mound of bodies. Many warriors had sacrificed themselves for the king and his young son. 

Cole struggled to move from under the weight of the king, his father. He was not hurt much at all, just bruised and sore, with some small scrapes and a long thin cut across his arm -- had he not flung himself back that might have done for him. He was on a slight rise, mounded round by the dead. From over shoulders and hips, Cole peeked across the field. Nothing. Just more dead.

A curtain of rain was flowing from the south west. When it swept across him, Cole threw a leg over the piled bodies and half slid, half rolled across them. No alarm was called. Slowly, he crawled across the field, stopping now and again to look, to listen. The rain clouded his eyes and clogged his ears. 

He had a thought and stopped, pulled off his fine coat and traded it for a dead man’s brown woollen cape. It swept the ground so he pulled off the dead man’s belt and buckled the cape about his hips.

At the edge of the wood he stopped again and took stock. The whole camp was gone. Where could they have gone? There was no woman, crying child or dog; no tent, smoldering fire, cart or dray. Cole stared in confusion, blinked, and turned back to the field of dead. 

At one cold hip he found a well made bag, and scampering about, filled it with three different kinds of bread, a bottle of beer, some broken meats, a packet of dried apricots, and two apples. The man with the apricots had flint and steel and another man had a bit of line with a hook. In the wood, where the camp had been, he found a blanket and a length of rope that someone had stashed in the nook of a tree. 

Cole's eyes roamed over the bark of the tree, grays and browns, and a strange mark, there, as if some impossibly large knife had given it a knick. It was odd. 

He'd let his pack slip from his fingers, so he knelt and made a neat bundle of it, crisscrossing the rope to make loops so he could wear it slung over his shoulders.

Provisioned, he set off to kill a monster. 

He traveled for two nights through the wood, sobbing and raging, wading through brooks and bogs, creeping around the edges of open meadows, and sleeping by the lee of a rock face or under the sweeping branches of a fir. On the third morning after his escape from the battlefield, he woke to his father calling him down to breakfast. 

That was hard, bitter hard. In his sorrow, Cole began to speak to his father, and as the sun rose and danced through the forest leaves, his father began to reply.

“Look, boy,” a heavy sigh, “You won’t be able to simply walk up to The Monster and shove a stick in its eye. If it were that easy, it’d be done, eh?”

He ignored the voice, pushing through the wood as the morning turned into afternoon, nibbling on the last of his bread and drinking from a rill. When the sun was half down the sky, he came to the downs that marked the border of his small kingdom. He stayed inside the tree line, following along the distant thin ribbon of road that ran over the green downs. 

Picking up where he left off, he spoke aloud to his father. "You taught me yourself that a single man might do what an army cannot. 'One stealthy man may have a disproportionate effect on the outcome of an engagement' -- yes?"

The reply was immediate and exasperated. "A man trained and learned in the ways of the enemy! A spy! An assassin! Not a grieving boy who loves his books more than the field."

Cole stopped, his arms at his side. He rolled his head on his shoulders and let it drop forward so that his chin lay on his chest. His gaze drifted to his boots. He stood that way for so long that a small spider tapped on his right toe, ventured hesitantly up the slope of leather, scampered across the bindings, and dropped down the other side.

"Grieving, yes," he finally murmured into the stillness. "Not only for my father but for my king. And for Will, Isle, Blaze, and all the good-men, Manor Lords and hedge knights." His voice rose and then broke. "But it was I alone who staggered away from that charnel field! I am what is left!"

He moaned and took a breath "I am all that's left. And I say that I will spend my life, be it days or years, on The Monsters end." He looked about the still, empty wood. "Do not doubt your skill as father and king. But do not doubt my madness, either."

There was only silence. After a long moment, Cole wiped the wetness from his face and began to walk, keeping his ears open and his eyes on the wood, the downs, and the road. 

When the sun began to drop between two hills, he found shelter against a grandmother of a beech that had fallen, it's limbs now shrouded by grape vines. Circling about, Cole found a stream and bent to drink from the bank. A brown trout splashed by his nose, and soon he had dinner on his line. On the way back to the beech, he picked a handful of fiddleheads and three pretty little morels.

At his cold camp, the first stars pricked the gloaming and he ate his fish raw, thin slices rolled in the spicy new grape leaves, with bites of greens and mushrooms. He was licking his fingers when his father spoke, "Well then. What are our assets? An over educated mad boy and a ghost. Hm."

Cole wrapped the brown woolen cloak around and snuggled into his pile of winter leaves. "I've heard worse odds."

"Hardly," his father's voice was dry.

Cole sighed and closed his eyes. As sleep engulfed him, he imagined he could feel the brush of a kiss on his brow. 

It was four days before Cole saw a company of men that might be Aubadian. He was high in an oak, taking the lay of the land and saw movement on the road coming over the southern ridge. 

Aubade had not always been their enemy. Cole's grandmother was the eldest daughter of the old duke, Regent of Aubade. 

“There you are, boy,” his father muttered. “There’s your death if you will it.” 

The wind blew, tossing the branch that he clung to and Cole tightened his grip. “I shall take care,” he reassured the emptiness beside him. 

Down from the tree, he made a quick fire of twigs which he sprinkled now and again with dry leaves so that the Aubadians would mark it. After what seemed a short time, he thought there might be a rustle in the wood behind him.

"Steady, boy. They've sent some scouts ahead to check you out." A twig by the fire moved just a bit and Cole could imagine his father standing there. "Look harmless, hm?" 

Cole broke a dry branch over his knee, added the pieces to the fire, and sat cross-legged, holding his hands to the warmth. After a moment, he began humming, then singing a nursery song that his grandmother had taught him. 

A sudden breeze swept smoke into his face just as he was taking a breath for the second verse, and he turned away, coughing and sputtering. He rubbed his smarting eyes and came face to face with a man holding a large knife.

Cole squeaked and fell back, holding his hands up in front of his face. "Please, sir! Don't! I will serve you!"

The man was young, a cap of dark hair framing a round face, but his eyes were sharp. "Where's your master, boy? Why has he left you here?"

"Dead," Cole stuttered breathlessly. "They're all dead." Tears flooded his eyes and he let them come. "I should have fought but I hid. And now they are all dead."

The man looked him over, "I saw that field of wasted men. Be glad that you didn't join them." He motioned Cole up and kicked out the little fire. "Where are you going, then. Do you have people nearby?"

Cole shook his head. "I'm alone now. I … my grandmother, she was Aubadian. I can see there is nothing for me here. I was," he stopped and took a breath. "Perhaps there are cousins I might shelter with."

"You do have the look of a half breed," the scout said and grinned. "As I do. My own Gramps was born in Den."

Cole let his eyes go wide. "As was mine! Maybe you are the cousin I'm looking for!"

The man laughed, held a hand out, and pulled Cole to stand beside him. "Stranger things have happened! Come, then, Cuz. I am Matteo. I'll bring you in and ask nicely that our Captain not slit your three-quarters Denian throat."

As they hiked to join Matteo's company, the wind in the trees muttered, "Well done, boy." Cole bit his lip but Matteo didn't turn a hair. 

It took three more days to reach Sithuria. The road threaded through farmlands and pastures where patchy black and white cows grazed. At the gate of a large farmhouse, a boy and his dog met them and gave them a withy basket filled with strawberries. The captain gave each man a few, even Cole. 

Cole popped the strawberries into his mouth and narrowed his eyes in bliss, not thinking of anything. When the strawberries were gone he looked up and the city stood before them. 

It was a city of trees. Short crabapple trees were in a riot of spring blossom. Tall wych elms brushed against eaves, and alder, birch, spruce, and pine lined the streets or peeked over shops from back alleys. The buildings and houses were browns, grays and greens, blending together with the look of a gardened woodland more than the city it was. 

It did not look like the lair of The Monster. The people wore clothes not much different from Cole's, with a bit of embroidery or a colorful scarf. But as they walked into town, eyes would light on the men and flit away. A woman gathered a small girl to her side, half hiding her in her skirts. Running boys backed away and walked quietly down a side path. There were no other grown men to be seen, young or old. 

The company made its way through town and to the gates that protected the old fortress. A young boy and a graybeard who looked like he should be knitting by his fire stood at the gate. With a word and a gesture from the Captain, the boy went trotting into the gatehouse, and the elder shuffled to the side to let them through. 

The yard was quiet. A smith was mending something in the lee of his workshop and beneath a fresh-leaved maple, a group of girls were plucking some chickens and peeling turnips.

The ringing sound of metal cut the air and Cole turned to see two men sparing with blunted blades. Slowly, the company walked over, a few quiet bets being offered and taken along the way. 

One of the men was tall and slender, using the speed and agility of such men to good effect against his shorter, more heavily muscled opponent. Cole could see the tall man's eyes recognise the company, and his cheeks rose in what might be a smile under his face guard. The company captain called out, “Hey!” and the shorter man turned his head in surprise. At this, the taller man launched a flurry of sudden motion, catching his opponent off guard and putting the big man down on one knee. 

“Hold!” the taller man cried, lowering his blade and throwing up his face guard. The other man tossed his blade to the side in disgust and threw up his own guard. “Damn, Everoe, you tricksy bastard!” He raised a gauntleted hand, “help me up now.”

Beside him, Cole’s father began to curse. Cole looked at the men again, tall and short, and felt suddenly dizzy with anticipated dread. He knew that man. He knew him. Prince Everoe, younger brother of the king. Servant of the Monster. The Smiling Devil.  
“It’s been five years,” his father muttered. “You’ve changed.”

The Prince was walking up, smiling at the Captain, his voice both hearty and smooth. The two then walked away, heads together. Suddenly, Everoe glanced back, searching the crowd. His eyes met Cole’s and narrowed. 

Cole itched his nose and moved sideways behind another man. At the same time, a sprite of wind blew up and tossed sand from the practice arena into the faces of the Prince and the Captain, and they both snorted and moved off.

“Come on, you lot!” the shorter combatant bellowed. “Into the garrison house and some supper in a bit, hey?”

Cole moved off with the men, trying not to look as if he was slinking. Why did he not consider Everoe? Everoe. Damn.


End file.
